


when the beskar sings (so does his heart)

by GuenVanHelsing



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Competence With Weapons, Din "I Can't Deal With Feelings" Djarin, Din Djarin is a Dumbass, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers for Episode: s02e05 The Jedi, Tatooine boys get things done, Weapons, oh lord does Din have a weapons kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: A bit of light sparring with Cara for fun uncovers some things Vanth hadn't mentioned about his past and also some things that Din hadn't known were going to make his mouth go drier than a Tatooine desert.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 38
Kudos: 371





	when the beskar sings (so does his heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robotboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/gifts).



> robotboy wanted pole kick so that's what robotboy gets <3

“Laugh all you want,” said Din with a huff, peeling himself off of the floor, brushing off some of the dust and glaring at Vanth, who was _chortling_ where he was seated on the bench with his drink, head thrown back as he laughed. Grogu was also giggling, clapping his little hands, and Cara laughed, smacking Din lightly — for her — on the pauldron as she walked past him. “I’d like to see _you_ take her on.” 

“I like my chances staying right out of her way,” said Vanth cheerfully, lifting his cup in a salute to Cara, who smirked at him before picking up her training staff again. “Know when to quit while you’re ahead, Mando.” 

“What, you couldn’t take an ex-shock trooper?” said Din, raising his arms to block Cara’s next blow with his vambraces, stepping back from the impact, ducking her followup swipe to go for her side — she dodged, and he spun to avoid getting hit on the ass with her staff. Again. 

“I could take her,” added Vanth, rather conversationally. “But, I also want to walk away from a fight. Not drag my broken carcass to the nearest medic.” 

“Bold words for a man who’s yet to step foot on the mat,” said Cara, and flipped Din onto his back like an outraged turtle for daring to try and flip her himself. Din wheezed, Cara put a foot on his cuirass, leaning her weight on him, and he wheezed some more. “Maybe you should come show Mando how it’s done.” 

Din grabbed Cara by the ankle, and she just kicked out of his grip. “You waited until I was already tired.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying it’s an unfair fight?” said Cara, her tone mocking, and Din rolled out from under her, scrambling to his feet. “Admit it, Mando, you’re out of practice.” 

Din threw a punch, and she grabbed his arm — the only reason she wasn’t able to yank him forward and toss him to the floor again was that he’d managed to adjust his footing in time and twist out of her grip. “I can still outshoot you any time.” 

“Doesn’t count if I’ve already wiped the floor with you,” said Cara, raising her arms to block another punch. “But you’re right, we should put some hours in for target practice after this. Wouldn’t want the rest of you to get rusty, tin man.” 

Din dodged her return swing and tackled her, knocking them both to the ground with a grunt. “I’m not _rusty.”_

“Sure, buddy,” said Cara, and _patted him on the helmet_ like he was a massiff pup before shoving him off of her, offering him a hand up as she stood. “Enough for today, you’re starting to depress me. And I want to try that new staff of yours, anyway.” 

Din shook his head slightly. “Is _that_ why you wanted to spar?” 

“Yep, all a ruse to try your new toy. Hey, Vanth, toss it here!” she called across the room, and Vanth sighed, getting up from his seat to fetch the beskar fear from where Din had left it leaning against the wall with his Ambran rifle. 

The marshal hefted up the spear in the hand not holding his drink, holding it almost horizontal to the floor at shoulder height, and threw it, his body curving in a graceful twist as he did. 

The beskar spear thudded into the arena floor point first, right between his feet and Cara’s. 

“Not bad,” said Cara, eyebrows raised in a way he knew meant _really good and you surprised me_ in Cara speak. “You fought with a spear much, Vanth?” 

“Hmm?” Vanth swallowed the sip he’d just taken of his drink, still standing. “No, not at all. Blaster is more my speed.” 

Cara pried the beskar spear up from the floor, eyeing the notch it had dug, and glanced at Din, a glint in her eyes that he wasn’t sure he trusted. “You practiced with that spear at all, Mando, or are you sitting this one out? Get in here, Vanth, let’s see what you’re made of.” 

Vanth glanced at Din. “Did I _not_ just say I haven’t fought much with a spear?” he said drily, draining his cup and setting it next to Grogu on the bench. “Watch this for me, sprout, would you?” 

_“Marshal,”_ said Din, seeing Cara’s arm raise, and Vanth turned just in time to snatch the spear from the air, spinning with the movement to aim it back at her, eyes wide. “Cara! You could’ve hit him!” 

“I don’t think so,” said Cara, and she was _grinning,_ picking up her training staff. “Come on, Vanth. Care to dance?” 

“Again, I haven’t used a spear to fight,” said the marshal, but he brought the beskar spear over, stopping a couple yards away from Cara, glancing between the two of them. “Aiming is one thing. Fightin’s another.” 

Cara’s smile widened, and she swung her staff. 

Din backed up fast to avoid the cross swing and only just missed getting swatted with the butt of the spear as Vanth spun it to meet Cara’s attack, lean body darting in fast to swipe down at Cara’s knees, forcing her to jump back. 

The beskar rang loud as a bell when the butt of the spear hit the floor, clear and sweet, and Vanth leapt up, swinging his full weight around the spear to slam both feet into Cara’s chest, sending her flying backwards, her staff clattering to the floor. He landed deftly, already swinging the spear in an arc around to her again, and she was laughing as she climbed to her feet. 

“Not trained in spear, huh?” said Cara, still grinning as she reclaimed her staff. “Whereabouts you pick that up, then?” 

Vanth shrugged — the tip of the spear trailed in the dirt, but when Cara advanced a step with her staff raised, the spear swung up again to block it with ease. “Some bits of the mining shafts only had the support bars left if you wanted to get through them,” he said, dancing back to avoid another swing and tapping away the return hit of the other end of Cara’s staff. “Criss crossin’ all the way down. Pretty easy for a skinny kid to get through, if you knew how to keep your balance. Half the time they had us hauling stuff up that way, quicker access than the main shafts.” He ducked low to avoid her high swing and swept the beskar spear toward her legs. 

Cara jumped back, and cracked a solid blow to the spear, just barely missing Vanth’s shoulder. She wasn’t _trying_ to kill him, Din realised, just _testing_ him. “Here I was thinking you’d had a stint as a pole dancer in some club.” 

Vanth cracked a grin at that, right before flipping the spear and ramming the butt of it into Cara’s shoulder, knocking her back, flipping away her retaliation with the staff with the tip of the spear. “Oh, there was pole dancing, of a sort,” he said, swiping the spear down toward her hand, and she jerked the staff up to block him from catching her arm. “More private events than a club.” Her next blow caught him close, both of them leaning into their crossed weapons, and he grinned at her, something sharp and feral to his smile, and Din felt a shiver drift down his spine. “Sure learned plenty to get by.” 

And Vanth grabbed _Cara’s_ staff with one hand, jerking it to make her catch one end on the floor, and kicked up to crack the staff of the spear down on her. 

Cara dropped to one knee, and Vanth stepped back, dropping her staff. “Dank farrik, that thing packs a mean hit,” she said with a grin, rubbing her shoulder as she regained her feet. “Mando, want a turn? Pretty sure he’s got other ways to knock your tin ass in the dirt than me.” 

Din let out a huff, shaking his head. “Someone once told me I should learn when to pick my battles,” he said lightly, and Cara snickered. 

He didn’t see Vanth move until the last second, just in time to bring up both arms to catch the swing of the spear on his vambraces, the clear ringing noise of beskar on beskar sending a jolt right down to his bones. 

Cara was cackling, and Din’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes caught on Vanth gazing seemingly right into his eyes through his helmet, a light smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Cara might be right,” the marshal drawled, his voice soft. “Maybe you are getting soft, Mandalorian.” 

Din brought his hands down and grabbed the spear, spinning it as he jerked back, and Vanth let go, stepping back with his hands lifted and held open, smiling. 

“That’s more like it,” he said, pleased. “Cara, if you’d be so kind…?” 

She tossed him her staff with a grin, and Din swung the spear — Vanth caught the blow on the staff and ducked under, sending Din stumbling forward as he felt the crack of the staff against his back. His armor took the worst of the blow, and he turned, swinging the spear at an angle to slam it against the staff raised to catch it. 

“Oh, so you can put the effort in when it’s _him_ you’re fighting,” said Cara, and Din wasted a precious moment to glare uselessly at her. Vanth’s staff caught him in the pauldron, and his arm smarted as he swung the spear up to get Vanth _away_ from him. 

The tip of the spear caught on Vanth’s scarf, jerking it from his neck, and he laughed, stumbling back, leaving Din standing with the red scarf dangling from the spear like a limp flag. The Mandalorian reached up to tug it down, careful not to tear it more — the spear tip had ripped a hole through what was usually the front of the scarf. 

“First blood to the Mandalorian!” called Vanth, and Din had a split second of horror that he’d actually _hurt_ the marshal before Vanth was on him, the staff slipping between Din’s body and the spear, and Vanth’s knee slammed into Din’s stomach just as he ripped the staff to the side, the spear flying from Din’s grasp as he landed on his back on the floor with Vanth on top of him, the staff held stiff to his throat. “Do you yield, Mandalorian?” 

“I yield,” whispered Din, and Vanth eased off of him, offering a hand, and Din let the marshal haul him to his feet. “Sorry about the scarf.” 

“Nothin’ a little thread won’t fix,” said Vanth easily, and his hand rested on Din’s for a moment— 

—no, he was just taking his scarf from Din’s hand, and Din stopped gripping it to let him. 

Somehow his gloved hand reached Vanth’s neck, and the marshal froze as Din traced the collar of his shirt. “I’m not hurt,” he said slowly, and Din’s hand froze, feeling the muscles under his hand flex as Vanth swallowed. 

“Just checking,” said Din, and his voice sounded faint to his own ears. He lowered his hand, and Vanth tied the scarf around his neck again, the torn section folded over to keep it from fraying further. 

Cara cleared her throat loudly, and Din straightened, feeling like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Help me set up some targets, will you, Mando? Let’s see if you really are as good a shot as you say.” 

“I’ve got it,” said Vanth, passing the staff to Din. “You go check on the kid. Either this place has a womp rat problem, or he’s eating something he shouldn’t.” 

Din glanced at the bench — Grogu had something in his mouth, gnawing visibly, and he groaned. “Be right there,” he said, and went to the child, leaning the spear and staff back against the wall by his rifle. _“What_ is that,” he said, but Grogu swallowed before he could get his hands on him, and just giggled when Din picked him up. And _burped,_ loudly, right in Din’s face. “Gross, kid. You better not throw that up.” 

Another giggle, and Grogu snuggled in close, resting his head on Din’s shoulder. Din sighed. He probably should’ve left the kid at the school again, but to be completely honest… 

He was too _embarrassed_ to go back there, after he’d burst in on them during his last visit and made several kids cry for disturbing their naptime, in such a hurry to get the child and get back in time to help Cara and Greef that he hadn’t even apologised for the intrusion. 

Din patted the child’s back, earning himself a contented coo, and glanced across the training area to where Cara was leaning in to point something out to Vanth, their heads close for a long moment as he listening, nodding before straightening to go grab something from a different pile of gear. 

He looked back at the beskar spear, at the new marks in Cara’s staff from the bout. Replayed the fresh memories of Vanth moving gracefully as any Mandalorian warrior with that spear in his hands, like it was an extension of his own body and not just a weapon. 

Grogu patted a small hand to Din’s helmet, and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat. “You still hungry, or are you ready for a nap, kid?” 

“What _was_ that he ate?” said Vanth, appearing at his elbow, and Grogu burbled and reached for him — Din held him out, and Vanth took the child into his arms, tapping Grogu gently on the nose to make him giggle. “Or do I not want to know?” 

“Best we don’t know, unless it makes itself reappear,” said Din with a sigh, and unhooked his cape, folding it loosely and setting it on the bench. “You want a nap, kid? Grogu,” he added, still unused to the name — the kid had a _name!_ — and Grogu’s head turned to look at him, ears perking up at once, just as he did every time Din said his name. 

The sight of it made something heavy and warm curl up in Din’s chest, but he didn’t think about it too hard. 

“Grogu,” said Vanth warmly, and the kid looked up at him, and that something in Din’s chest got a little warmer, a little heavier, until it felt like it might sink down all the way to his stomach. “You’re a good kid, putting up with us ignoring you this long.” The child yawned, and his grin widened. “We might be gettin’ a bit loud, think you can sleep through that?” 

“He can sleep through a lot of things,” said Din. He hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulling out the little silver ball, and Grogu’s eyes snapped to it immediately. “You want this, kid?” He held it out, and Grogu grabbed it with both hands, cooing happily, then yawned again, wider. “Alright, Grogu, naptime for you.” He laid the child down onto his folded cloak, bunching the sides of it closer around the kid, and before he could untuck a corner to drape over him, Vanth’s hands were there, spreading his red scarf over the kid like a blanket. 

“There you go, sprout,” said Vanth, tucking the scarf around him, and Grogu settled with his arms over it, still clutching the ball and blinking up at them sleepily. 

Din stared. 

He’d never seen the back of Vanth’s neck before, he realised, his gaze caught on the star-shaped brand burned into his flesh, the dashes and dots through the unpleasant design. Vanth straightened, rubbing a hand absently, and glanced at Din. “Maybe we should call it a day, get him back to the _Crest_ for a real nap.” 

“If he makes a fuss, we will,” said Din, and his hands reached for the marshal before he could stop himself, grabbing him by the arms and turning him around, giving him a slight push toward Cara. “Let’s see you shoot, first.” 

“I’m feeling more and more like a Sibian hound performing for treats,” muttered Vanth, but he didn’t push Din away, walking right beside him back across the room to Cara. 

“Little one alright?” she said, tossing something toward Vanth, and he caught the blaster in midair — a second one hit Din in the cuirass, because he hadn’t been paying attention. He bent down to pick it up, and Cara was _clearly_ holding back a smirk when he met her eyes again. 

“If the blaster fire doesn’t wake him up, he’s peachy,” said Vanth, brow furrowing when Cara made a noise and took back the blaster she’d given him, shoving a longer rifle at him. “Al...right?” 

“Let’s see your distance,” she said, pointing across the room at the other wall, where she and Vanth had placed the target dummies — old droid bodies and battered armor that weren’t any good to be used for anything else, even scraps. “Mando told me you had a torpedo on that armor for range, right? And you’ve used a blaster before.” 

“Yes, but—” 

Cara cut him off. “So let’s see it, hotshot. Hit the one in the middle.” 

Vanth sighed, but lifted the rifle to his shoulder. “Any particular spot?” 

“Dealer’s choice.” 

Vanth squeezed the trigger, and the rifle barked, the red light of the blast zipping across the room, and the dented stormtrooper helmet on the middle dummy flew off to smack into the wall, bouncing onto the floor. 

All three of them turned to look to the far side of the room, but there was no sound from Grogu or flailing arms, or things being thrown at them, so Din figured it was probably alright. 

“Try this one,” said Cara, shoving a different blaster at Vanth, who just sighed and traded it for the rifle without arguing. “Right target, torso.” 

“Vague,” said Vanth mildly, and he’d barely lifted the blaster before firing — the shot hit the target on the right squarely in the chestplate of the armor, right where a heart on most humanoids would be. 

“Good,” said Din, the word escaping him without a thought, and he felt his own face heat up under his helmet as a low flush crept over Vanth’s cheeks. “Left target.” 

“Where on it?” said Vanth, and yelped when Din lunged at him. He dodged, glowering, and ducked a fist from Din — the blaster barked, and Din stopped, turning to look. 

The left target had a smoking hole dead center between the eyes of the empty protocol droid’s head. 

The butt of the blaster banged lightly on the back of Din’s helmet, and he yelped, turning to find Vanth raising an eyebrow at him. “That really necessary, Mando?” 

“Might have more than one assailant in a fight,” said Din, and grinned under his helmet, seeing Cara square up behind Vanth. “Third and middle, this time.” 

“Kriffin’ hell—” said Vanth, all he could manage before Din came for him from the front and Cara rose up from the side. 

He dodged Din’s hit, but Cara’s struck him in the side, doubling him over for a moment, and Din almost hesitated until the blaster aimed right at him and a blast struck him in the chest, knocking him on his ass. Din scrambled up as Cara lunged for Vanth, only for him to grab her arm and yank her over his own back, dropping her to the floor. 

Din moved, and froze, the blaster aimed right at his helmet and Vanth’s hazel eyes looking at him with nothing but ice. 

Would he really— 

A blaster bolt flared past his visor, then another, blinding him momentarily, and when he blinked the afterglare away, the blaster muzzle was aimed right between his eyes. 

“Good try, Mando,” drawled Vanth, lifting the blaster, and his smile was warm again, the iciness gone in an instant. “Am I gonna have to expect that from the two of you every time I turn my back, now?” 

“Nah, you’re alright,” said Cara with a wide grin, clapping him on the shoulder, and he nearly stumbled — Din dug his fingers into his own thigh to keep from reaching over to steady him — and pointed at something behind Din. “Check it out, Mando.” 

Din turned, looked. 

Both the third and middle targets had fresh holes, one between the eyes and one in the chest., still smoking. 

“I know who I’ll be calling next time there’s trouble stirring up,” said Cara. “How ‘bout you, Mando?” 

“Yeah,” said Din, and Vanth _smiled_ at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, all soft, and Din’s chest hurt. Probably from the tussling with Cara earlier. For sure. 

“You any good with an axe?” said Cara, and Vanth narrowed his eyes at her. His hair was sticking up in different directions, no matter how many times he swiped a hand over it. “I’ve got a neat two-hander I got off a Zabrak I’d like to see you try.” She grinned at Din. “Wouldn’t you like to see that, Mando?” 

Din looked to Vanth, who just sighed. 

“Bring it out, then,” said the marshal wearily, and Din tried not to look too interested when Cara tossed Vanth a double-headed axe, which Vanth caught and swung easily behind his back to switch it to his other hand. 

It was hot in the arena. 

Really hot. 

Had to be why he felt so kriffing hot in his flightsuit. 

Yeah. 

That had to be it. 

“Learned an axe but not a spear, then?” said Cara, hefting a smaller axe, a vibro-blade head on one side, and Vanth grimaced, swinging the axe languidly as he moved. 

“Had these sledgehammers, see,” said Vanth, and the blade of the axe sang as it crashed into Cara’s attack. “Real heavy things, took a lot of swing to get them moving. Once you did, though, didn’t take much to keep ‘em goin’—” He broke off, ducking under a swing from Cara, and rapped her on the leg with the flat of the axehead, grinning as he sidestepped away from her backhand. “And you learned quick how to move with ‘em, or crack your own bones when you misjudged a swing.” 

Cara lunged, a wipe sweep of her axe cutting close, and _up,_ and Vanth laughed as the double-headed axe slid across the floor, Cara’s blade to his throat as he grinned at her over it, chin tilted above the humming blade. 

And then _she_ laughed, and Din finally saw the pocket blade Vanth had pressed to the seam of her armor. Cara lowered the axe, and Vanth lowered the knife — Din didn’t see where he tucked it away to, and he wondered how many other weapons Vanth had hidden on his person. 

“Mando, get that Ambran rifle of yours,” she said. “I want to see how Vanth handles _that.”_

“Wait—” began Vanth, but Cara was already dragging him over to the target dummies, rescuing the fallen stormtrooper helmet and propping it back where it should be, adjusting the positions. 

“Take your time, Mando!” she called, and Din gave a start, realising he’d been standing there like a log, and headed back to the bench. 

Grogu was sleeping soundly in his makeshift bed, one hand cradling the silver ball close and the other kneading gently at the fabric of Vanth’s scarf. Din watched him sleep for a moment, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. 

Glanced back across the arena to where Cara was knocking her shoulder into Vanth’s with a laugh, the easy smile on both their faces. 

Vanth’s hand reaching up to brush that wild hair back from his face again, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he listened to Cara explaining something animatedly, her hands gesturing widely as she spoke. 

Din looked back down at the child, sighed, and grabbed the Ambran rifle from next to the beskar spear. 

—

It was another hour and over before Cara was satisfied, having run Vanth through every weapon she had in her stash, and even badgered Din into letting the marshal try the beskar spear again — not to fight, just to see what he could do with it, and he could do _plenty,_ more than enough that Din’s mouth was dry just from watching the way Vanth moved, almost as if he were dancing with an invisible partner and not just a spear. The more he moved with it, the smoother he became, and Din couldn’t keep his eyes off of him. 

Then Vanth flipped the spear, breaking into a short run and driving the tip into the floor, vaulting up and into the air, and Din took a step forward, surprised, hearing Cara gasped as Vanth landed hard and rolled up to his feet, the tip of the spear tapping lightly against the mudhorn signet on Din’s pauldron with a soft chiming sound. 

“Careful, Mando,” drawled Vanth. “You keep letting me play with this, you might not get it back.” But he handed the spear over with a grin, nodding to Cara. “Alright, enough, I’m famished. There anywhere to eat around here, Dune?” 

“Might be,” said Cara, tipping her head to Din. “Mando, you hungry?” 

“I’ll keep,” said Din hurriedly. “The kid might be hungry, though.” 

“Aww, he’s still sleepin’,” said Vanth as they approached the bench, crouching down beside the child, smoothing a hand over the scarf to tuck the edges in more carefully. 

“Grab your stuff, then, let’s go eat,” said Cara. “Mama Shobba’s has some Quor'sav-fried steak so spicy it’ll curl your hair for you.” 

Vanth lifted Grogu, cradling him to his chest, part of Din’s cape flopping down to hang almost to his knees. “Oh, no,” he said, eyeing the stash of weapons and glancing at Din meaningfully, “my hands are full.” And he headed for the door, murmuring something in a low voice to Grogu as he walked. 

“So you _do_ have a type,” said Cara, elbowing Din in the side as Vanth disappeared out the door, and the Mandalorian gaped at her, hoping his surprise was covered enough by his armor. 

By the smug smile on her face, it was not. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly, and she laughed at him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” she said with a grin, and started gathering up her assortment of blasters. Din watched her for a moment, exasperated, and gathered up his own weapons when she just made a face at him. “Mando, even your armor can’t hide everything.” She hefted her duffel of weapons over her shoulder, and followed Vanth out of the arena. 

Din sighed, looking back over at the target dummies they’d pretty much demolished. Thought about how surely Vanth had handled each of the weapons Cara had handed him. 

Remembered Omera, on Sorgan, and the same steady assuredness in her shooting he saw in Vanth’s. The _surety_ that each shot would hit true, the instinct driving them to do anything to keep their homes, and the people who lived there, safe. 

_So you do have a type._

Din sniffed, and hefted his weapons, fingers tightening on the beskar spear. 

“Mando, you get lost back there?” called Cara, just outside the doorway, and Din sighed. 

“Coming,” he called, and hurried toward the door. After his kid. And Vanth. 

Cara didn’t know what she was talking about. 


End file.
